There was, no doubt, an impression of this sort in the minds of some persons, respecting Dr. Lindsley. But it was a mistake. It would have been impossible, in the nature of things, for any man to give as much time as he did to study, and to accomplish the amount of reading and writing which he accomplished, and yet not appear at times reserved and uncommunicative to persons little given to such pursuits themselves. But in every congenial and appreciative circle no man was fonder of the interchange of thought and feeling, and none more excelled in conversational powers. He had no gift, and no great admiration for the chatty nonsense, of what is sometimes called good society, but it needed only an intellectual, cultivated company of friends, and the stimulus of an important theme, and there was at once the unrestrained flow of eloquent, brilliant, sparkling speech, as from a perennial, inexhaustible fountain. On every such occasion, he became, as a matter of course, the chief speaker; and when the scene was his own fire-side or social board, his guests not unfrequently retired, wondering how the time had fled. Many an intelligent stranger too, meeting him for the first time on some of his travels, and thrown for a few days into his company, has left him, only to regret that he could not know more of one so full of all useful knowledge, and so gifted in the power of imparting it.

But his home was his Eden, and except when invaded by disease, or overshadowed by death, there was everything in it to make life peaceful and joyous. Few men perhaps have ever had a more genial and happy home; for few could have been more blest in the companion of his early choice, and in the children of their mutual love. From some indications already given, in the notice of his early years, it might be inferred that he possessed, in a high degree, those social qualities and susceptibilities which are so well calculated to impart and to receive happiness in the domestic circle. And accordingly we find, through all the relationships of life, repeated evidences of that intense and ardent affection which first showed itself in the love of a noble mother. Some of these examples are so touching and beautiful that we shall be pardoned for introducing them here, as illustrations of his social and religious character.

In all his trips to the East, he had ever made it a point of duty to visit his mother, in New Jersey, as long as she lived. We find the following record of her decease in his journal for 1854:

"January 30.-I this day received a letter informing me of the decease of my beloved and ever-honoured mother. She died at Madison, Morris County, New Jersey, on Friday, January 20, 1854, about five o'clock P.M. Had she lived two months longer, she would have completed eighty-six years. She was born March 21, 1763. Having lived a most exemplary and useful Christian life, she departed in peace, and in the full assurance of a blessed immortality.

"March 4.—I have just read the 135th number of the American Messenger for March of the present year. In it I read with intense interest the following communication:—

[For the American Messenger.]

"WHAT WILL OUR CHILDREN THINK OF US WHEN THEY ARE OLD? -A venerable widow, now eighty-five, has but a dim recollection even of her own children, but a scene in the life of her father is still vividly before her. He was an officer in the army of the Revolution, and, believing it necessary to be inoculated for the small-pox, before subjecting himself to the disease, he visited his home. He gathered his family around the domestic altar, and solemnly commended them to God, and then took leave of them-not knowing but it would be, as it proved to be, his last earthly meeting with those dear ones. As he was leaving the house, this daughter, his youngest child, followed him out upon the porch. He turned back, took her in his arms, kissed and fervently blessed her, and departed. She never saw him again; but that kiss and that blessing are now as fresh as though of yesterday. This scene she often recounts with the tears streaming down her cheeks. Next to the memory of her Saviour, she delights in the memory of her father. The burdens of age are lightened by such recollections. Parents, what are we tracing of ourselves upon the memory of our children? What will our children think of us when they are old?' "Who was the writer of the above I know not; but the subject of it was my sainted mother. Often have I heard the story from her own affectionate lips. That last sad interview with her father seemed

ever present to her mind. She told me all about him when I was a little child-how good he was-and how dearly she loved him. My last visit to her was in October, 1852. I passed some ten days at her house, in Madison, New Jersey. She then repeated to me the parting scene with her father, as quoted from the Messenger. Colonel Ebenezer Condict, her father, died of small-pox, in camp, April 2, 1777, near Mendham-Washington's headquarters being at Morristown. My mother was nine years old, and her father about forty."

In this connection, we may add another interesting record, taken from a foregoing page:

"My mother often saw General Washington while the army had their winter quarters at Morristown and vicinity, and she retains a distinct recollection of his appearance, manners, etc. He occasionally visited at her mother's house, where was quartered General Gist, of the Maryland line. He sometimes dined there. He often amused himself with her as a playful child-spoke kind words to her about her father, whom he highly esteemed, and whose recent death (by small-pox in camp) he deeply deplored. She became greatly attached to him. His benevolent, affectionate, pleasant manner won her confidence, and caused her to forget the warrior in the friend. She mentioned numerous little events and incidents characteristic of the good man-such as a child nine or ten years old would be likely to notice and to be impressed with. She was present in the old Presbyterian Church at Morristown, when General Washington partook of the Lord's Supper with the Rev. Dr. Timothy Johnes and his people, as narrated by Dr. Hosack in his Life of De Witt Clinton. (See also Barber and Howe's Historical Collections of New Jersey, p. 388.) She described to me, with minute particularity and accuracy, the localities, seats, tables, persons present and officiating-differing much from present modes and forms, but corresponding exactly with the usages of that day, and of the early period within my own memory.

"She remarked that she had never seen a good—that is, a correct likeness of Washington. Perhaps her opinion would have been different, had she ever beheld the general at the head of his troops or on the battle-field. The portraits are all too grave, solemn, warlike, to

accord with the smiling, cheerful, benignant countenance of the social guest and orphan's friend-as she had known and loved him.

"The American army, under Washington, had their winter quarters at Morristown and vicinity on two different occasions. The first time was in January, 1777, immediately after the battles of Trenton and Princeton. The second was during the winter of 1779-80."

But we pass to another touching illustration of those deep and tender sympathies which he cherished towards the objects of his love. It was when death threw its dark shadow over the loving and happy household. In 1844, the youngest child, Philip, a little more than nine years old, was taken sick, and died. The following passage, indicating how deeply all the chords of parental affection had been touched, has seemed to us, on many accounts, to be one of the most characteristic, and, at the same time, one of the most beautiful, which we have seen from his pen. It reveals the whole heart of its author as one of exceeding tenderness. After describing the funeral services, from the text "Is it well with the child? And she answered, It is well" he says:

"He was carefully deposited in the narrow house, between twelve and one o'clock. The grave was deep-lined with hard brick at bottom and sides the coffin carefully deposited, with planks of cedar around it as an outer box-then all arched over with brick by the mason-so that no earth fell harshly upon the coffin-lid. It was a sweet-looking house-secure from the approach of envy or ambition—a calm resting-place--a bed of repose-never more to be disturbed or alarmed until the morning of the resurrection, when radiant in beauty he shall be raised 'a spiritual body.'

'He was the 'loved one' of the family. Oh! how we loved him! And oh how he loved us! Docile, obedient, meek, gentle, mild, modest, unobtrusive, ingenuous, trustful, affectionate, dutiful, without guile or envy, ever ready to share his little treasures with his companions, or to bestow them on the needy. Beautiful and lovely-with a lofty forehead-bright, dark, speaking eye-chestnut hair-most expressive countenance-always joyous, but never boisterous. Sensitive, ethereal, intelligent-unsophisticated by evil communications-the con

stant associate and friend of his parents, brothers and sisters, he knew nothing of the selfish, artificial, deceptive or corrupting manners and influences to which most children are, sooner or later, exposed. He was perhaps kindly taken from the evil to come: and removed to a better school and a safer home!

"His moral and intellectual developments appeared extraordinary -almost angelic-at least to the partial eye of doting affection-and seemed to promise much for the future. Precious, noble, generous boy! We shall ne'er behold his like again. Oh, why given? And oh, why taken away? He was our little Benjamin, the pet, perhaps the idol, of the family. He was younger, by ten years and two months, than any of our other children. He was singularly courteous and manly in his bearing, and in all his intercourse with society. He never failed to attract the special notice and admiration even of strangers, whenever seen by them. He was beloved by all the poor children of the neighbourhood. He was kind, obliging and grateful to everybody. Among the last of his spoken thoughts was the suggestion to his mother of plans of helping certain of his little friends whom he named. He seemed, during the whole period of his sickness, to think more of others than of himself. He expressed a wish to see God! Ah! whither has he gone? Where is he now? Shall we ever behold him again? Shall we go to him? Months have passed away, (February, 1845,) but the bright vision is ever present--the sweet countenance of our loving boy is always before the eye of our hearts--we dream of him-sigh and weep in secret-glance at the numerous tokens of his taste and ingenious industry all over the house and grounds, in silence -we utter no words of sorrow or complaint-the anguish of our spirit is not assuaged-the world around us wears the aspect of desolation and bereavement. A cherub in the skies is beckoning us upward and homeward to the peaceful mansions of the blessed-to the New Jerusalem, where God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away."

In little more than a year after this affliction, (December, 1845,) he was called on to pass through another and still greater bereavement.